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The White Room (story)
The white room is a story written by Tyler Santinelli as Zhann Carcerri. It features the Emperor Tobias. The White Room The Parade of Masks is a peculiar Imperial holiday. It began as a coup to overthrow our Emperor in early 2.27M64, in which a masked mob marched on the Imperial palace. Rookfinger was at the time entertaining guests, and assumed the masked crowd to be friends of these guests. He invited them in, and through his usual impertinence and oblivious charm ended the coup. Today few recall the origins of the celebration, but every year the citizens on New Byzantium affect black robes and blank white masks and march through the winding streets to the palace. It was during this festival that my account begins. As with any such gathering of citizenry, agents of all manner of Imperial institutions were anonymously in attendance. As was our way few of my Order were physically present, preferring as we do to observe from afar. I was in attendance purely by chance, and after meeting with the remains of a contact I determined to observe the festivities. My attire was lacking in only the customary mask, which my former contact was happy to lend me. ' ' * * * ' ' Despite the concealing masks, the forms of several familiar beings were plain to me. I soon found myself following the crowd towards the palace. As obscene a joke as the festival was, I found myself lulled by the slow, steady pace of the march. The noise was as tremendous as it was sudden. Investigators would later marvel at the raw destructive power of the peculiar weapon as well as its brutish ingenuity. A two-stage device with the appearance of some primitive world musket, it would first fire a solid projectile of angular and terrible shape. As destructive as this first stage of the weapon is, it was the second stage that perplexed investigators. Under the barrel of the weapon was a small aperture from which a beam of energy was projected. Solely through the steady arm of the wielder, this beam of energy would superheat the solid projectile until it detonates within the target. All of this was painfully, pristinely clear to me as I watched the slug enter my right shoulder. My head and arm were wrenched away from the point of impact in opposite directions, as the projectile detonated. I felt shards of my collarbone become embedded in my skull and my lung as my right arm became close to detached. I saw my assailant as I drifted upwards, a still point in the chaos of a fleeing crowd. A shade stood above my body, humanoid in form, but above the shoulders it took the form of a massive black bird. The last I saw was the figure holding bare arms out before it, holding them above my body, a soft glow already beginning to accumulate in its hands. ' ' * * * ' ' The voice was thunder and silk, and my head felt as if it would burst for the strain of containing it. ‘Ah yes, there you are...’ All I could see was quivering, writhing, glistening shadow, as if I had been consumed by some massive beast. The squirming tendrils began to move with purpose, and they pulled together to form a straining knot. As the ropey flesh pulled away my eyes were seared by blinding white light, and soon that light dominated my vision. I gasped as my wound came in contact with frigid air, and even then I could feel the flesh of my wound being knit back together. Steam rose from the exposed sinew and from my open mouth in spurts as I laboured to breathe. Before me the pulpy black mass writhed into the form of a man. He was not tall, not helped by his standing perpetually at an angle. His clothes were all of worn black cloth, with white accents in the high Imperial style, and a mantle of black feathers lined his collar. His eyes were obscured by round yellow lenses. ‘Much better’ the voice sounded, still threatening to split my head, ‘so vain we made you, always you prefer the familiar forms, yes?’ his speech was languid and drawn, with the sound of laughter barely suppressed. I tried to speak, but the injuries had torn my throat to uselessness. Even then I felt a shard of bone painstakingly carving its way back to its place. ‘Your feathered friend does good work, but slowly, yes?’ his head twitched as if suddenly remembering, ‘but you must be wondering why, yes? Oh of course, always with your answers and questions you are.’ He reached out and took my hand in his and at the same time pressed his thumb to my forehead. The feeling of revelation has been described by many Imperial scholars as an opening of perception, a seeing of new vistas of reality, or sometimes as the feeling of being seized bodily by the weight of new knowledge. For me, it has always been characterized by an overwhelming dread. There was no logic behind the jumbled knowledges that forced their way into my brain. If knowledge it could be called, it was not meant for a mortal mind. Buried in the horror of my new learning was embedded a sense of inescapable purpose. Paths were laid out before me, some I must walk, and others which would undo all I have worked for. Some divisiveness and destruction and the Dull, others unity and peace. It was certain in that moment what I must do. But before I could act beyond a widening of eyes it was gone. The smile on the man’s face somehow became broader, closer to a baring of teeth than any human smile. ‘Now Zhann… you know we wouldn’t want to give away too much, would we? No…’ With a crunch my collar bone snapped back into place. Not much time left. ‘Ah, not so slow as that. Good. We have much to do. Do you know? How much did we leave? You will find your way...’ The voice became thin as I faded. My vision became split, at once seeing the white room and a crowd of masked faces under a grey sky. ‘Go and be my eyes...’ and the voice was gone. ' ' * * * Another voice came, this one was urgent, shouting ‘Watcher! Wake up! Damnit Carcerri!’ it was the voice of the Soldier. He would never call himself such now, but that was what he was. I rose and shrugged Catherwood away. The raven headed figure stood a pace away, waiting. ‘The accord is upheld, the Watch is not done. Go forth, inquisitor,’ and he too began to fade away. I bowed to the ethereal shape and made a V over my chest with, drawing my hand from one shoulder to my stomach to the opposite shoulder. ‘What is going on here?’ Jasper asked, ‘what in the hells was that?’ Miraculously, my mask was unharmed in the attack. I replaced it on my head and turned to the sunned inquisitor. ‘Just a revelation, Jasper. I’m sure you understand,’ and as I left back into the masked crowd ‘stay watchful,’ my smile was hidden by the mask. Category:The Order of the Watching Eye